


Empty Places

by themadlurker



Series: camelot_fleet commentfics [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Community: camelot_fleet, Episode: s01e12 To Kill the King, F/F, Ficlet, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-06
Updated: 2009-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:35:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28127733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themadlurker/pseuds/themadlurker
Summary: There was a time when Morgana was afraid she'd never see Gwen smile again, never mind laugh like this.
Relationships: Gwen/Morgana (Merlin)
Series: camelot_fleet commentfics [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2060613
Kudos: 5





	Empty Places

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt from srin: "Gwen & Morgana, doing ...something of your choice, in the blacksmith's forge?"

There was a time when Morgana was afraid she'd never see Gwen smile again, never mind laugh like this. Gwen takes another look at Morgana's face and nearly doubles over with the force of her hilarity. Morgana can't see herself, of course, but imagines she must look every bit as sweaty and flushed as she feels — probably her face, neck, and arms are all the same bright red.

She gives the bellows one more push, even though it sends splinters of pain up her arms, just to see the way Gwen throws her head back, tossing her hair around wildly in gusts of laughter.

"Stop — Morgana, stop!" Gwen gasps out at last. "You'll hurt yourself! No, really, there's a reason blacksmiths have so many muscles, there's no way you can keep this up."

Morgana finally releases her grip and lets herself collapse onto a bench, fighting the hysterical giggles that threaten to overwhelm her as she tries to catch her breath. Her arms feel limp — she's not sure she could move them if she wanted to. Gwen is still shaking her head in fond amusement as she fetches a jar of liniment from a nearby shelf.

"Here, it should lessen the pain you'll feel tomorrow. Gaius used to make it for my father, though of course he was more used to the strain."

Morgana gestures a little helplessly and gives Gwen her best pitiful expression as if to say, "you don't really expect me to _move_ right now, do you?"

Gwen just grins at her and coats her own hands with the pungent mixture to rub along Morgana's upper arms. Morgana's so lost in the pleasant haze of warmth and Gwen's hands that it doesn't register for a moment that Gwen has mentioned her father without the faint tightness around her mouth that Morgana has grown so used to seeing. Gwen's face is relaxed and open as she watches her fingers sweep over and down to Morgana's right forearm.

"I'm sorry you can't keep the forge," Morgana says, and then bites her lip, wishing she hadn't mentioned it. But Gwen's expression is still easy. She shrugs a little and continues in silence.

They don't speak again until Gwen has finished her task and put the jar back in its place. Then she turns to look seriously at Morgana.

"I never expected to keep the forge, not really. Even if — even if it were likely that I'd marry someone who could work it, it's not as if it would really ever be _mine_. Not like — not like while my father lived. There isn't one man in a thousand, you know, who would let his daughter work in the forge, never mind his wife."

"But it isn't fair!" Morgana wants to say and then, because she loved Tom, who used to let her and Gwen play in the forge when the castle was too stifling and who taught them both how to handle arms and armour, because he had never believed in trusting his daughter's safety to the royal guards, Morgana blurts out:

"Oh, Gwen! It's my fault things are like this! All I wanted to do was to help, but it's made things worse, and now I've hurt you so terribly!"

Her chest is painfully tight and she knows the stinging in her eyes is more than the heat from the furnace.

Gwen lays a hand on her shoulder and the gentleness feels like a reproach.

"You couldn't have done anything more than you did, Morgana. I know that you told — that you did what you could to speak for him, there was nothing more..."

But Morgana is already shaking her head furiously. She bites her lip as she looks up into Gwen's earnest, kind face.

"It's more than that, Gwen. You don't understand. Your father — when he tried to escape, and they... He never would have — he _couldn't_ — but I gave him the key to the dungeons. He never would have left the cell... Oh, Gwen, don't you see, I was trying to help him and instead I got him—"

She can't finish. The words are too heavy with self-condemnation. She can't look at Gwen.

Time stalls and races past. Morgana doesn't know what to do except wait — she's told Gwen the worst of it and doesn't know what can possibly follow.

Gwen's hand is still lying on her shoulder. Morgana is afraid to move lest she disturb the fragile connection, whatever it means now.

At last, Gwen reaches out with her other hand to touch Morgana's cheek.

" _Morgana_ ," she breathes.

When she dares to look up, she sees that Gwen's eyes have filled with tears.

"Gwen—" she starts.

"No," Gwen says. "No, please don't say it anymore. _Thank you._ "

And Gwen leans down to kiss her, softly, sweetly, as if Morgana is the one in need of comfort. And although Morgana's arms are still weak and tired and burning from the bellows, she reaches up to take Gwen's head in her hands.

And holds on. As hard as she can.


End file.
